


Savoir Rare

by mokuyoubi



Series: Amnesiac!Ryan [2]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, Young Veins
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Best Friends, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan picking up the pieces his other self left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Savoir Rare

It’s so deceivingly easy for Spencer to fall back into the relationship he had with Ryan five years ago. He forgot how well they fit—he knew that they’d been close, but he couldn’t remember how it felt, that connection between them that made speaking in complete sentences (or, in certain circumstances, in anything other than facial expressions) entirely unnecessary.

Five years doesn’t even seem that long of a time—Spencer doesn’t feel old by any stretch of the imagination. But somehow, Ryan makes him feel so much younger. The past few years have mellowed Spencer in a lot ways, but when he’s with this Ryan Spencer feels sharper, talks more quickly and animatedly. He catches himself making a seriously catty comment to Pete that has Pete looking shocked and makes Spencer blink in confusion and disbelief at the words coming out of his mouth. 

For the most part it doesn’t feel like a bad thing; Ryan is healthier and happier than he’s been in a very long while, and Spencer’s having fun. It’d be pointless to pretend that he’s ever been better at anything other than taking care of Ryan Ross, and he _likes_ it. 

Spencer enjoys showing Ryan all that he’s missed, seeing the simple delight in Ryan’s face upon seeing all the everyday things Spencer takes for granted. Spencer thrives on Ryan’s unquestioning faith, the way Ryan has put himself in Spencer’s hands to do with what he will. 

And of course, there’s the _other_ aspect to their current relationship. Spencer doesn’t know how to label it. Physical doesn’t work, considering that they’ve always been far more tactile with each other than most friends. Intimate just doesn’t do it justice—even with everything that’s passed between them, Ryan still knows more about Spencer than any girlfriend ever has. Romantic just sounds silly and inadequate. 

It’d be a lie for Spencer to say he never considered this sort of thing, once upon a time. In the early years of their teens it weighed heavily on his mind, and though it became less painful and pressing with each year, even up until the early touring days of Panic!, Spencer could never stop the random flashes of longing, couldn’t help occasionally catching sight of Ryan with one of his girlfriends and thinking _what if it was me_? 

Now Spencer doesn’t know if that was love or possessiveness, or some combination of the two, but he never _acted_ on it. The first time he kisses Ryan out of the cover of darkness, without Ryan’s fears to hide behind, it’s as though Spencer’s lost all control over his own actions, compelled only by a painful ache in his chest, and longing for something that only this Ryan can give him. 

And it’s _good_. Ryan gives and gives and gives, and he takes, too. He demands selfishly in a way that only Ryan ever has done to Spencer, and it’s familiar and expected and comforting. And it’s dangerous. 

Sometimes Spencer catches Brendon watching him with Ryan, and suddenly Spencer feels so _ashamed_. Suddenly all those long nights spent sitting up with Brendon after the split come rushing back to Spencer, when he swore never to let Ryan manipulate him ever again. Remembers the irrepressible, stifling hurt disbelief and confusion and hatred that swept through him at the oddest moments. 

The thing is, Spencer muses, that may not even be the worst part of it all. Spencer’s happy now, but at what cost to Ryan and the people in his life. A small part of him is viciously, vindictively pleased at how this is all affecting Jon, but mostly Spencer just feels sick about it. And there are all of Ryan’s other friends, and his new band, and all the obligations he has in his life. 

Ryan isn’t even _trying_ to get his memories back; he hasn’t said as much, but Spencer isn’t stupid. He’s read all the same literature that Ryan has. Ryan’s avoiding any meaningful sort of treatment, restarting at eighteen, and Spencer won’t call him out on it. Spencer’s enabling it. Fuck, he’s encouraging it. 

Brendon’s eyes, full of everything unspoken, aren’t enough to make Spencer stop. 

*

Ryan doesn’t write music anymore. 

Once, a few weeks after the incident, he sat down with one of Brendon’s borrowed guitars with the need to compose. For as long as he could remember, writing songs had been Ryan’s only form of therapy. Right now, in this foreign world, there weren’t a lot of things for Ryan to take solace in. 

As he sat there, trying to twist his current mess of emotions into lyrics, his fingers started plucking out random notes and chords. Someone clearing their throat startled him, and he turned to see Sarah in the doorway. She cringed sympathetically at him and came in, shutting the door behind her. 

Ryan liked Sarah—she was refreshingly normal and a good compliment to this older, somehow simultaneously crazier and mellower Brendon. Also, she gave him the benefit of the doubt where the amnesia thing was concerned, which made Ryan just really grateful. 

“What’s up?” he asked. 

“I, uh, just thought you should know Brendon and Spence are going to be back any minute,” she said, in this weird tone of voice like she was warning him. He gave her a bewildered look. “So maybe you don’t wanna be playing that? I mean, sure you can play whatever the hell you want, but Brendon’s just been—”

“Wait,” Ryan interrupted, holding out a hand. “He said I could borrow the guitar.” 

Sarah gave him a look so full of pity that Ryan almost wanted to hit her. “You don’t. You don’t even know.” Ryan swallowed hard, because he was sort of developing an idea. “That was one of _your_ songs. From _The Young Veins_.”

Sarah sat outside the door of the bathroom while he got sick. When he’d finished and rested his head against the cool porcelain, she tapped her fist to the door gently, sounding kind and guilty when she tried to assure him that it was just muscle memory. 

Now, Ryan makes a conscious effort to play only those songs he remembers writing, or songs he knows from having played covers of them. Instead of composing anything new, Ryan spends a lot of time catching up on all the music and literature that he’s missed. When he feels the need to create, he writes poetry. 

Sometimes he’s curious about the music he created since leaving Panic!, but that curiosity is never strong enough to overcome the vow he’s made himself to never look back on that life. Brendon seems less suspicious these days, and Ryan will do whatever he needs to in order to keep things that way. 

It’s difficult to ignore the steady stream of incoming calls from Jon, though, not to mention the anxious look Spencer gets on his face whenever he’s around when one of those calls comes. Finally Brendon corners Ryan while Spencer’s out for his morning jog. 

“You need to talk to Jon,” Brendon tells him. “Not that it isn’t a blast to be on the receiving end of one of your silent treatments and all, but even Jon deserves better than this, not to mention the rest of your band, and Z, and your fans. Plus I can’t just keep throwing punches every time he shows up.” 

Brendon does have a rather impressive purpling bruise on his jaw from when Jon came by a few days before. Ryan feels guilty about it enough without Spencer’s constant worried looks and whispered comments made to Brendon just out of Ryan’s earshot. 

“And say what?” Ryan asks. He’s being petulant, but he feels he has the right. “I don’t know him. I’ve told him I’m not coming back, and Pete’s gonna take care of things with the label. What point is there in talking any more about it?” 

“Look,” Brendon says, “I’m trying to trust you here, when you say you don’t remember, that you don’t want to make the same mistakes you did before. But you’re doing exactly the same thing to Jon that you did to me and Spencer.” 

That’s enough to hear. As much as Ryan would prefer to leave off all contact with is former life, he wants Brendon’s trust, more. 

*

They meet up for coffee and Spencer stays close, browsing the shops in the same strip. Ryan wanted Spencer with him, and he could tell that Spencer felt the same. But Brendon gave Spencer a stern look that Ryan couldn’t decipher, and that decided things. 

In Ryan’s most recent memories from before, Jon was mellow and friendly, with a lazy smile and a drawling voice that made Ryan think of warm sweaters. This Jon is too thin, with tense shoulders, and bags under eyes that have a hunted look about them. His hair hangs limply around his face and he keeps turning his coffee cup in tight circles on the table top without ever drinking. 

“We’ve been taking care of Hobo for you,” Jon says. “Whenever you’re ready to come home.” 

Ryan doesn’t want to be having this conversation, but he also doesn’t want to deal with Brendon’s reaction if he doesn’t. “I’ve been talking with Spencer about putting the house on the market. Brendon’s planning on moving in with Sarah, and Spence said I can stay with him.” 

Jon nods slowly. Cautiously. “Okay. Well. We could start getting things packed up for you.” 

“I don’t _want_ that stuff,” Ryan says, a bit more forcefully than necessary, and Jon’s wide-eyed expression is any indication. “Sell it all, I don’t care.” 

“Ryan,” Jon says, voice low and full of hurt and confusion. It makes Ryan want to run. “Don’t do this. We…we _miss_ you. Z and Alex wanted to come today, but we don’t want to overwhelm you. We want to help you remember. You aren’t even…If Spencer and Brendon even fucking cared, they’d see that it’s us who should be helping you, not them. We’re your fucking friends. We love you. They just want you to go back to who you were when you were children, for fuck’s sake.” 

“Who I was when I was a child seems a lot more sensible and mature than who I’ve become,” Ryan snaps. 

Jon doesn’t have anything to say to that, apparently. His hand drops to the table top, his mouth working without making any sound. He gives Ryan a hopeless, lost look, his eyes flitting across Ryan’s features looking for something familiar, some hint of recognition. Ryan feels trapped by it. He pushes back from the table but doesn’t stand up yet. 

“I know this must be difficult on you,” Ryan says, and he’s proud of how even his voice is. “I’m sorry it has to be like this. Pete spoke to the lawyers at the label and he tells me the terms of the deal for The Young Veins make it possible for me to leave without any legal problems.” 

Ryan is aware that while this is partially because the label was doing them a favour with the deal in the first place, it’s also that Jon and the rest of the band never thought Ryan leaving would be an issue. Even though he hates the idea of _The Young Veins_ with a passion, and what it stands for, he can’t help feeling sorry for them. He doesn’t want to destroy someone else’s dreams, knowing how important his own have been to him. 

“Also, if you don’t want to mess with it, Spencer talked about hiring someone to take care of things with the house,” Ryan goes on. “I don’t—I don’t want to kick you out, or anything. I mean, you guys have somewhere to go, right?” 

“Of course I have somewhere to fucking go,” Jon tells him venomously. His expression is more of disbelief now. “You want us to just get rid of Hobo, too?” 

“Spence or Brendon will come and get her,” Ryan decides. It isn’t the _dog’s_ fault all of this has happened. 

“You’re really…you’re seriously going to do this,” Jon marvels. 

It isn’t as if Ryan hasn’t thought of this, endlessly, since he realised it wasn’t all a bad dream. Hasn’t weighed all his options, considered all the possible paths his life could take from this point onwards. He has wondered, if somewhat idly, what might happen if he were to return to The Young Veins, keeping up his obligations only with a different attitude. But though he feels guilty over leaving this other, unknown band behind, it isn’t enough to make him risk the accompanying lifestyle. 

“If you really are my friend,” Ryan tells him slowly, “then you’ll understand why I have to do this.” 

“Sorry,” Jon says. He leans back in his seat and narrows his eyes up at Ryan. “Guess I’m not as sensible and mature as you’ve become.” 

Ryan is sorry, too. 

*

Panic! doesn’t have any shows for a couple months. Part of Spencer wants to put off the inevitable as long as possible. It’s entirely unlike him; Spencer’s always been one to approach a problem head-on. Then again, Ryan has been the sole reason for a long list of exceptions to Spencer’s rules, so it shouldn’t come as any great surprise. But things with Ryan are so delicate, Spencer hates the idea of going too quickly. 

Brendon doesn’t have the same compunctions. He calls Ian and Dallon, inviting them for a long weekend, and his look just dares Spencer to say anything about it. 

Ryan gets all weirdly shy, but it’s only weird to Spencer because it’s been so long since he’s seen Ryan behave this way. He hangs around on the staircase when they each arrive, hovering in the background while hugs and pleasantries are exchanged. Ryan gives them awkward handshakes and a nod of greeting before practically scuttling behind Spencer. 

Ian’s pretty cool about it, and Dallon acts like nothing odd is going on at all, because they’re good people like that. Both of them respond to Ryan like they’ve never met him before, which seems to put Ryan at ease. 

Brendon barely lets them set their bags down before he’s ushering them down the back hall to the studio. He spares Ryan a calculatedly blasé look and says, “Band business, you understand?” and doesn’t wait for an answer before shutting the door in his face. 

Spencer bites his tongue and saves that fight for later. Brendon’s getting so much better, but there are still moments when he can’t help himself, when he’s rude or downright cruel. And Spencer knows Brendon doesn’t owe Ryan anything, but it’s still upsetting to see them at odds like this, especially when they’re both hurting from it. 

They mess around for a while, jamming and chatting about everything except the most important, pressing topic. Brendon is anxious and jittery, and talks way too loud and quickly, and finally Ian sets aside his guitar and gets down on the ground Indian style and says, “You know, I never planned on doing this forever.” 

Brendon and Spencer share a look and Spencer sighs. “Ian, we’re not asking you to step aside.” 

Ian shrugs, and there isn’t even a little tiny bit of passive-aggressiveness in him at all. “You don’t have to, is what I’m saying. This, _The Cab_ , it’s never been the sort of music that I’m really passionate about. But Ryan is. This is his band. It’s never been mine.” 

It’s both a relief and something of a disappointment. When Ian first agreed to join them, it was as a favour, but there’s no denying the chemistry between the four of them on stage, and the fact that the dynamic worked really well off as well. Ian is laid-back and easy going in a way Ryan Ross couldn’t even comprehend, and it made touring a lot less stressful. 

Ian’s giving them an easy out, but that means the final decision is left up to Brendon and Spencer; it would have been so much less complicated to hide behind their obligation to Ian, to say “we owe him this.” 

There are too many issues to make the choice a simple one. Ryan won’t be able to rejoin the band permanently until after a trial period; the label doesn’t have the same faith in him that Pete does. They’ll have to think of something to tell the fans, and prep Ryan for the endless interviews that will follow an announcement of his rejoining Panic! They won’t be able to hide the truth of the matter forever, but they’ll have to find a way to distort it a little, make it a little less unbelievable and grandiose. 

Ryan will have to relearn all the stuff from Pretty. Odd., not to mention the new stuff which he hasn’t had a hand in creating. It’s one thing to give him lyrics and melodies he doesn’t remember writing, because those words still came from Ryan’s mind. It’s another to give him Brendon’s music. Ryan’s always been an asshole with his criticism, and Brendon’s only got worse at receiving it over time. 

They don’t come to any conclusions during that first day. After a long, contemplative silence, they go back to playing, and the tension slowly dissipates, and Spencer thinks _I’ll miss this_. Not as much as he’s missed Ryan. 

*

They play their first show as the _new_ new Panic! at the Disco shortly before the holidays at a benefit concert Pete has orchestrated. It’s like a Decaydance/FBR reunion, with Patrick’s new solo act and Travie’s, Cobra and TAI, plus Hey Monday (with guest vocalist Ashlee) and The Cab (with guest guitarist Ian), and Black Cards finishing off the roster. 

Panic ! is set to go on second to last, right after Patrick, but before Black Cards, and Ryan spends the first five acts pacing the dressing room and ignoring the backstage antics of the rest of his label mates. The sixth he spends standing at the side of the stage, watching Patrick in a sort of awed disbelief at the way the man has blossomed, so different from how Ryan knew him, before. 

All the bands have grown and changed, created some really impressive albums. Even the newer bands, who don’t really play the sort of music Ryan likes, have a way with the crowd. For Ryan it’s been months, or at least feels like it, since he’s been on stage, and they’re going on second-to-last. That’s huge, _they’re_ huge, and Ryan doesn’t remember being there for it. Isn’t sure he’s ready for it. 

Spencer comes up behind him, puts an arm around Ryan’s waist. Even after the past few months, Ryan still hasn’t gotten entirely used to his new body. He feels as though he should be diminutive in Spencer’s embrace, and he feels a strange falling sensation every time the two of them fit together just so. Ryan lays his hand over Spencer’s where it rests on his stomach. 

They don’t speak, which is for the best. Nothing Spencer could possibly say in this moment would help, and they both know it. But, as ever, Spencer is a silent, willing source of strength from which Ryan readily draws. 

Brendon gives them an odd look when he comes to join them at the side of the stage. “People are going to see you, if you aren’t careful,” he mutters, with no particular emotion, as if he’s simply stating a fact. 

Ryan disengages, taking a neat step to the side, and gives Spencer a questioning look, brow raised. Spencer just shakes his head just slightly, enough for Ryan to know to let it rest. It’s all baby steps with Brendon, but Ryan’s gotten this far through patience he didn’t know he’d possessed. Ryan’s fucked up a lot in the past, and he’s accepted that, as far as Brendon’s concerned, it doesn’t matter whether or not he remembers it. Actions work a lot better with Brendon than any of Ryan’s apologies have. 

The work has paid off. Ryan’s lack of open contempt at Brendon’s lyrics went a long way to gaining his trust, and the more Ryan’s played heard and sung them, the more he’s grown to genuinely like them. It must be obvious, because Brendon’s already cautiously mentioned the two of them working together on the next CD. Brendon’s long stopped flinching at the sight of Ryan and Spencer kissing. These days, he’ll even let Ryan steal body warmth when they’re sitting together on the sofa, and no longer glares when Ryan tucks his toes under Brendon’s thighs, just gives a resigned sigh and shifts to make it easier. 

Tonight’s show will hopefully hasten his progress. Ryan is pretty certain that he’ll never entirely convince Brendon that his amnesia isn’t some devious ploy to get back into their good graces without having to acknowledge his mistakes. Brendon will never one-hundred percent believe that Ryan isn’t going to just abandon them again when his tastes change, or when he grows bored, or when he starts doing drugs again. 

Ryan can only simply _be there_ , every time Brendon needs him, and give everything he has on the stage, and he will, no matter how paralysing the fear, not matter how uncertain Ryan is of his own ability. He’ll do this, for Brendon, who doesn’t have faith in him, and for Spencer, who does. 

*

The show passes in bright, fitful bursts of music and cries from the audience. It’s all sort of numbingly surreal, all these frantic, blissful faces looking up at Ryan in disbelief and adoration. There are signs he can’t read very well through the glare of the stage lights, but a lot of them are written to him. They seem to be welcoming him back, expressing their love for him. 

And Ryan, he’s only ever wanted to make his words heard with the hope that maybe he could reach someone who felt like him, give them a voice, let them know _you’re not the only one_. He wants to say he’s sorry. He wants to promise he won’t leave them again. It strikes him that for every fan out there who’s glad to have him back, there is another who, like Brendon, has their doubts, and all Ryan can do is keep playing. 

All he really remembers is the slippery-sharp slide of the strings under his fingers, the metallic scent of sweat, the cold press of the microphone against his face as he leans in to provide backup. He doesn’t know what words he’s singing, or notes he’s playing; instinct has taken over, and Ryan trusts it to see him through. 

At some point, Ryan catches Brendon’s eye, and the grin that Brendon gives him his fiercely joyous and Ryan helplessly smiles back, so full of too many emotions to name. Brendon lays his forehead against Ryan’s, leans in to share his mic, and the crowd goes sort of crazy over it. Ryan blinks back the wetness in his eyes and thinks _I won’t promise anything. I’ll show you. I’ll show all of you_.

*

One morning—maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe in five years—Ryan wakes up in a sun-warmed bed. Hobo is curled up in the bend of his knee, and there’s an arm tossed over Ryan’s waist, heavy with sleep. In that place between sleep and wakefulness, where dreams still cling like cobweb at the edges of his awareness, he smiles without opening his eyes and reaches for Z, says, “I had the strangest dream.” 

“Oh?” Spencer asks, and Ryan opens his eyes, forces his smile to stay soft and natural. “What was it about?” 

Ryan swallows and presses further into Spencer’s embrace, kisses the hollow of his throat. Says, “I don’t remember.” fin

**Author's Note:**

> For postingwhore's request for the winning bid at Help Pakistan.  
> I’m pretty sure this is it, for this ‘verse. Thanks to for looking over this for me.


End file.
